


Hale to the Chief

by LadyLazarus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - College/University, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fraternities & Sororities, Halloween, Humor, M/M, Masks, President's Son AU, Recreational Drug Use, Roommates, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLazarus/pseuds/LadyLazarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Son Stiles Stilinski thought college back home in Beacon Hills would be the best thing <i>ever.</i></p><p>That is, until he realized that he'd be stuck with Derek Hale as his roommate the entire year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hale to the Chief

**Author's Note:**

> Ah!!!! This is my entry for the 2013 Teen Wolf Big Bang. Awesome Artwork by SirBojangles is posted below, but please send comments/feedback/praise to her tumblr [here.](http://sirbojangles.tumblr.com/post/69775700868/twbb2013) I had a wonderful time writing this and freaking out and sending frantic drafts to [Rogue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pr1nc3ssp34ch/pseuds/pr1nc3ssp34ch) and [Lee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leewrites/pseuds/leewrites) who graciously beta'd the poop outta this and made me stop using the word "and." Love you and thank you!
> 
> I should also warn for HEINOUS amounts of fluff. Like, it is a _lot_ of fluff.

The Sheriff sat on Stiles’ bed while he packed. There were only so many plaid shirts he should really be bringing to college, and yet, here he was with an entire box stuffed full of them.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help? No new wardrobe? College is a big deal. You get to be whoever you want to be, ya know.”

“Yeah dad. Super easy to do that when _you’re_ _the president_.” Well he wasn’t really the Sheriff anymore, but Stiles still liked to call him that in his head when he was being annoying.

He sighed. This past year hadn’t been easy for either of them. He was only nine months into his first term as president. There had been campaign trails and public appearances and Stiles had made an incredible effort to avoid the public eye. A few photos had been taken, but for the most part, the lanky First Son had avoided the photo spreads in People and US Weekly. Not easily of course, but Stiles’ habit of late-night blogging and his rejection of sunlight worked well to keep himself from the paparazzi.

On the other hand, the former Sheriff had been dealing with silly accusations of sheltering his child and concerns about becoming the first president without a First Lady. President Stilinski’s foreign policy garnered the most favor among the lobbyists and he swept the hearts of the American people with his everyman personality and charming charisma.

“You know, I could have Danny enroll with you. He looks young enough.” Danny was Stiles’ personal bodyguard. He was a flirty little shit, but by now one of Stiles’ closest friends. In all honesty, some sort of medal should have been awarded to Danny by now for having to deal with all the trouble he caused playing pranks on Jackson, another bodyguard that was assigned to Stiles when he went out of the house with Danny.

“Dad, I don’t want anyone at college with me. I told you: I’m gonna be a normal kid going to a normal college doing normal college things. I’m gonna get drunk and go to class with a hangover and smoke weed. I don’t need protection everywhere I go.” His dad grumbled, defeated. Stiles turned away from him to grab a pile of colored pants, shoving them awkwardly in a suitcase. He heard his dad slap his knees as he got up from the corner of the bed and walk out of the room, pausing at the doorframe.

“I love you, kid.”

“I know, dad,” he answered over his back. As soon as he was gone, Stiles collapsed onto his bed. He smiled.

This was his chance to get away from all of the weird pressure of being the President’s kid. It wasn’t long ago that his dad was just a deputy in a mid-sized California town. Stiles went from worrying about acne to worrying about creepy guys with cameras trying to take his picture whenever he felt like Taco Bell or McDonald’s.

College would be different. It’d be better. His dad was right, he could completely re-invent himself. He didn’t have to be the loudmouth comic book nerd or the prankster class clown. He could be the cool fratty dude or comic-loving hipster or something. Maybe he’d find a tree to read under like Rory in Gilmore Girls and he’d meet the attractive girl (or guy) of his dreams.

Stiles turned his head to the side looking at all the half-filled boxes that lay around his room. “Guess you have to pack first,” he muttered to himself, settling in with a pile of warm clothes to take a nap.

~*~

Beacon Hills University felt like it could be home for Stiles. He missed California. They’d had to move to D.C. shortly after his mother died and Stiles still missed the forests and hills in NorCal. UCBH had about 10,000 undergrads, definitely one of the smaller UCs, but also one of the most prestigious. They encouraged a lot of exploration and no one had to declare a major until the end of their sophomore year, which was exactly what Stiles needed.

There were also three Starbucks and two independent coffee shops that surrounded campus. That was a good sign. Also the 24-hour pizza joint called Mac’s (‘Home of the Mac & Cheese pizza!’).

UCBH felt like it could be home – except his roommate.

“Ah! You got the big single! Lucky kid! I’ll show you up there, can I grab anything for you?” The welcoming squad kid was way too excited about grabbing boxes from Stiles to be comfortable. It would’ve been nice to have his dad there to help with all the stuff, but Danny would suffice as his “older brother.” Having the President would be a security risk and everyone would be up in arms about it all. Plus, Stiles wanted to pretend he wasn’t the President’s son if only for a few months at a time.

The tow-headed, freckly kid bounced ahead of them up the stairs to the second floor in the dorm. At least Stiles had gotten a nicer one in the lotto. The building wasn’t all-freshmen and it had been renovated over the summer. Plus, it had its own dining hall in the basement.

The kid pushed the door open and Stiles was met with the very defined backside of someone unpacking.

“Oh! I forgot! When they renovated over the summer, they combined the singles on all the floors into big doubles! Still bigger than a regular though.”

Stiles’ roommate had turned around to face them, and Stiles was sadly left without any real words. He was _crazy_ hot. With great muscles, dark features, bright hazel-y eyes, and worst of all, wearing tight jeans and a tank top.

Shit.

“Hey, kid, wrong room. I’m supposed to have a single,” Hot-Dude said, arms crossed. Fuck, how did he look even better when he was glaring?

The kid twitched at Stiles’ side, “Um, sorry man, you’re kinda screwed. The sophomores that won the singles for the live-in lotto have to split these doubles now. But hey, new couches, right?!” He laughed nervously, shoving the key fob into Stiles’ hand and scurrying away.

Hot-Dude stared at Stiles for a few seconds – just enough to be uncomfortable – then turned back to his boxes. “If any of your shit gets on my side, I’m throwing it out. If you come home drunk, puke in your trash can or I’ll make you puke in the morning. Bring home anyone when I might possibly be in here and I’ll make sure you never get laid on campus again.” He tossed a mocking smile over his shoulder to Stiles before pulling out a tall, narrow safe that was obviously heavier than Stiles himself and promptly ignoring the other human in the room.

Fuck. And he was still hot.

Yeah, everything would be great. Except his roommate.

~*~

Orientation and Syllabus week went by with little event. Everyone had been fairly nice and congenial and it felt like high school just with more freedom and on a larger scale. At one point, Stiles thought a pretty blonde girl was checking him out but then he happened to glance behind himself when grabbing a slice of pizza (the only edible thing in the dining hall) and he spotted some fratty douchebag making eyes at her.

So far, Stiles had been able to avoid his scary-hot roommate, now known as the scary-hot Derek Hale. He seemed to always be out of the room (thankfully) though it would have been nice to start college off with one almost-automatic friend, to have someone to explore campus with and check out dumb stuff like the laundry rooms and the study carrels. Derek Hale was certainly not that guy. Stiles barely knew anything about the guy, except that he was a sophomore, hot, mostly angry, and busy.

Now, Stiles was heading for his first class. Supposedly the poetry classes in the English department were easier than the other Lit classes, but the pre-lecture silence in the classroom was a bit foreboding.

“In this classroom, I am God. If I hear an electronic beep, you’re out. If you didn’t do the reading, you’re out. If you don’t participate, you’re out. No, you won’t understand the material right away, but that’s why we have discussion. You’re here to learn, not slide by on a C. Cs do _not_ get degrees in this class, ladies and gentlemen.”

 _Harsh_.

Stiles was sitting next to a kid with tan skin and an oddly uneven jawline who was scribbling circles in his notebook in the corner.

Halfway through a lecture on Whitman’s political analogies, Stiles leaned over. “Hey, do you get this?”

The kid looked at Stiles, and smiled widely, “Nope! I’m Scott by the way.” He had one of the dopiest grins Stiles had ever seen and it suited him well.

“I’m Stiles.”

“Cool. Cool name!”

“Thanks.”

It turns out that Scott and Stiles had a lot in common. Scott liked COD, Stiles liked COD. Stiles liked curly fries, Scott liked curly fries. Scott liked bro-ing out, Stiles liked bro-ing out and both liked to chillax just listening to Blink-182 in the dorms. Mostly though Scott understood who Stiles was on a fundamental level, and he really felt grateful that he had someone he could be comfortable with in silence.

For the first few days, it was like Stiles was in some perfect college universe. No one was an asshole to him and he barely saw his roommate until Friday.

Fridays meant Stiles’ communications seminar and as Stiles soon found out, that meant his shared class with none other but Derek Hale, supreme asshole.

Inexplicably, the professor sniffed out the animosity between them and, during the second of their three-hour once-a-week classes, paired them up for the group project that would last the quarter.

“Dude, I know you hate me, but can we just get through this project without fucking everything up?”

Derek glanced up from his computer in the library, scanning some abstract he’d found on bildungsroman (“Dude, just say _coming-of-age_ , way less pretentious”) movies. He rolled his eyes and sighed, looking pointedly at Stiles, “I don’t _hate_ you,” Stiles raised an eyebrow, “I just don’t _like_ you very much. And don’t call me dude. At least I let you pick the project topic.”

Which was true. Derek hadn’t been very resistant when Stiles offered the idea of examining the Brat Pack’s contribution to contemporary cinema.

“I just thought you liked _The Breakfast Club_ or _St. Elmo’s Fire_ or something.”

“I don’t even know what they’re about. I haven’t seen them.”

 _What?_ Stiles’ jaw dropped. He closed the lid to Derek’s laptop, ignoring the angry snarl to “Keep your hands off my mac, asshole” and leveled the most intense stare he could at Derek.

“What?! No. We are _not_ doing this project without you watching _The Breakfast Club,_ and then _St. Elmo’s Fire,_ and _Pretty in Pink,_ and _Sixteen Candles_ , and _The Pick-Up Artist_ , and all the rest. I hope you don’t have any mysterious room-disappearing-from plans tonight, because you are sitting on your bed getting a cinematic reeducation dude. Popcorn included.”

Stiles was smiling big and bright, already trying to plan the perfect order so Derek wouldn’t get sick of Molly Ringwald’s face (who could ever anyway?).

“Come on! C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! Let’s go!” Stiles jammed everything into his bag, totally smushing up two of his syllabi. He couldn’t even bring himself to care about it.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and bounced off his seat, tugging at Derek as he shoved his laptop into his messenger bag and tried to shake off Stiles. “Ok! Alright! We’ll go back and watch a couple movies. But only a couple, Stiles.”

Stiles beamed up at Derek, rolling his eyes. “A couple? Ok then.”

~*~

They walked back across campus to their dorm room. Stiles had been practically skipping his way across the greens on his way there and as soon as he opened the door, he was rushing in to open up his laptop and find a good link to one of the movies. Derek unloaded his bag and sat on his bed.

In just a couple short clicks, Stiles was loading _The Breakfast Club_ and running out of the room with an obnoxious orange bowl and two bags of microwave popcorn.

“Be right back! Don’t start it ‘til I get back!” he commanded, disappearing in a flurry. Derek swung his legs back and forth off his lofted bed waiting for Stiles to return with the popcorn. Sighing, he rearranged his bed so the pillows were up against the wall instead of by the headboard and he grabbed Stiles’ as well so they could each double up and hopefully not feel the cold cement block wall behind them. He closed the curtains and turned off the light to their room. Derek glanced at the safe in the corner of the room, tensing up. He shouldn’t really be… This is just homework. All of a sudden he felt thirsty.

Stiles came back in just as he was bending over to pull two of his cokes out of the fridge.

“ _Wow,_ ” Derek heard Stiles whisper.

“What? I just thought that if you were gonna make me sit through two of these movies back to back, I might as well make it as cinematic as possible.”

Stiles swallowed. “Uh yeah. Totally man.” He smiled again, “Be prepared to have the bildungsroman slapped straight out of ya!”

“Pleasant.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ laptop and put it on his bed and climbed up to make himself comfortable. Stiles followed suit with the popcorn and put it down in between them. Derek handed Stiles one of the cokes and he took it with a shy thanks before tapping the play button on the online stream.

As Brian’s monologue began, Stiles started to whisper it barely aloud, eyes fixed to the screen, hand full of popcorn paused on its way to Stiles’ mouth. Derek glanced over at him and sighed.

“Stiles, shut up.” Stiles looked up from the screen at Derek’s glare and apologized sheepishly. Not a minute went by before Stiles was at it again quoting the movie as it played through the first act.

Fed up, Derek clapped his hand over Stile’s mouth and shushed him. Derek could feel Stiles’ soft lips underneath his hand. Derek’s face felt warm. Slowly he brought his hand down, making eye contact with Stiles, challenging him to breathe another word of the script of _The Breakfast Club_.

Two movies went by and the popcorn was gone, empty bowl on the floor, but Derek wasn’t about to get up. Tentatively, Stiles leaned over and put a new movie on. Derek didn’t stop him. Stiles smirked like he’d won a poker game.

With the curtains drawn closed, neither of the two noticed the sun disappear over the horizon. They began to yawn around the fourth movie and during the fifth, Stiles slumped against Derek’s shoulder.

Derek sighed, unsure if he should wake Stiles up or just leave him on his bed. He felt pretty exhausted himself. Stiles had probably worn himself out getting so worked up about the project and movie and then carbo-loading on the popcorn and soda. Derek closed the lid to Stiles’ laptop and settled himself a little more comfortably, pulling a blanket from the edge of his bed and draping it across their laps as he finally let himself fall asleep with Stiles drooling on his sweater.

~*~

When Stiles woke up, he was on his own bed with his laptop set neatly on his desk. Derek was sitting at his computer typing out an essay. Stiles yawned and stretched out in his bed.

“So did I convert you? Brat pack or best pack am I right?” Derek stopped typing and stifled a chuckle, straightening his face.

He turned around to face Stiles. “They’re alright.”

“Alright?!” Stile squawked, “They’re so much better than alright! They are a _cultural foundation_!”

Derek laughed, “ _Alright_ , Stiles.”

~*~

The next few weeks passed in a companionable calmness. Stiles didn’t seem to be wearing on Derek’s patience and Derek wasn’t an ass to him either. Much.

One time Derek brought Stiles a coffee in the morning after he stayed up all night studying for a midterm and slept for the next day straight through.

They had more movie nights, usually at Stiles’ request, begging really. Stiles never fell asleep on Derek again and he still wondered if he really had that one time, or if he just didn’t remember stumbling back over to his side of the room. He never asked and Derek never volunteered.

Stiles started to pick out Derek’s “study mode” as he called it and made sure he was out hanging with Scott, listening to him drone on about this “cute sorority girl that dominated in the intramural field sports.” Allison was a common topic for their conversations, but the couple times Stiles had met her, she seemed to be totally cool, if a bit frightening with a bow in her hands.

They even had dinner together once, but it was more of a “you’re the only person I know in this room and I’d rather not sit with _that_ dude” sort of situation at a lecture-plus-meal that was required for their communications seminar. Stiles imitating the President with a slice of ham was enough to make Derek giggle at random times during the second half of the lecture.

The only downside to everything was that after that stupid coffee he guzzled down in four gulps, Stiles realized he wanted to kiss Derek in thanks. Yeah Derek was hot, but… Derek was a meanie-head robot, right? And once Stiles realized that he might like him, everything he thought was annoying suddenly became curmudgeonly cute.

And then the worst thing in the world happened: he started talking about Derek like Scott talked about Allison.

Oh it was bad. Derek did this thing when his eyes got tired and he’d put on his glasses, but he scrunched up his nose all funny like there was a bad smell when he would shove them on. And on Wednesdays when he went to do laundry, he’s sit there and actually fold everything into neat little piles and he’d make sure they were organized by color (only six colors though: dark grey, dark red, dark blue, dark green, dark brown and black). And he had a thing for Mexican cokes. He always took the bus that stopped on campus thirty stops west to the hispanic neighborhood so he could pick up the glass bottle coke and a couple churros on the way back. One time he brought a churro for Stiles too.

Stiles tried to flirt, but it had absolutely no effect on Derek. He made sure his shirts rode up when he stretched and he walked into the room from the showers in his towel twice because he “forgot” his shampoo. He ate that phallus-shaped churro as slowly and seductively as he could without looking ridiculous. But nothing.

Derek didn’t seem to rise to any of the bait, but sometimes he’d catch Derek look at him when he wasn’t doing anything at all spectacular: humming as he bit his pen while typing out essays, hugging one of his pillows while watching corgis run in slow motion on youtube, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he tried to slog through boring readings. It was frustrating, the mixed signals he got from Derek.

Pretty much everything would be easier if he owned up to liking Derek.

~*~

“Dude, just figure out what he’s into and talk to him. Like, don’t spaz on him or anything, just bring up stuff about your life and ask questions connected to it that he might relate to. Like, ‘Hey my best friend Scott is the most fantastic friend ever, do you have any fantastic friends? Besides me obviously.’” Stiles rolled his eyes and threw his pillow at Scott, who caught it effortlessly.

“Yeah, just like that. Super easy. He never talks to me though. Honestly I don’t see why I care. There are plenty of other ladies and gents that would _love_ to hop on the Stiles train that don’t have such shitty personalities,” Stiles rolled over and muffled his groan into his other pillow, “Scoooottttttttt, whyyyyyyyyyy?”

Scott slapped Stiles’ upturned butt. “Stilessssss, whyyyyy?” he groaned back, punching him in the butt until Stiles turned around and tackled Scott to the ground, slumping over him with his full weight like two worn out puppies on the industrial carpeting of the dorm room floor.

Outside of the room, Derek paused, listening. Who was Stiles talking about? Derek didn’t even know he liked guys. Actually, he didn’t know much of Stiles’ interests. Derek lingered with a hand on the door handle, straining to hear any more conversation.

“Dude, maybe you should get it over with and just ask him. Point blank. If it’s awkward for you, it’s gonna be awkward for him.” Scott was on top of Stiles with an arm around his head in a lock. Stiles jerked around like a fish out of water, but to no avail.

“Yeah Scott, that’ll be really great. So when he rejects me and slams my face into the table for even thinking about it, I can live with him for the rest of the year. He’ll totally _not_ think I’m a creep or think I’m always watching him. Yeah I can just picture it, ‘Hey Derek. I think you’re hot and for whatever reason I want to date you. Let’s do that, K? OK. Cool! Want pizza?!’ Yeah no thanks, Scott. Seriously worst advice ever. Dude, let go of me.”

Stiles liked him?

Oh.

_Oh._

This was a really awful development. He’d _promised_. He’d given his _oath_. He rolled over and thumped his head against the wall before realizing that Scott and Stiles might hear. Was he obligated to…? Did he need to…? Fuck he needed to talk to Boyd.

Derek knew he should really go, or at least pretend to not have heard anything. He _really_ shouldn’t be thinking about Stiles that way either. Stiles was a freshman crushing on the first guy he met that was semi-attractive. But Stiles was smart and really good looking in his own way. He was tall and lithe, but there was obviously muscle underneath the baggy layers he wore. And his hands, his fingers. Fuck, did he like Stiles too? Shit, Stiles threw him off so much. He shook his head and took a deep breath, making sure not to hold it too long.

Pushing open the door as calmly as he could, Derek focused on not looking at Stiles and Scott like they were just obviously talking about him. For their credit, they only looked guilty for the weird position they were in rather than the content of their conversation.

“Scott.” Derek greeted gruffly, walking over to his bed and pulling out his wallet and key and throwing them on the mattress before lying down.

Facing his wall, Derek’s facial expressions were hidden as he listened for any other conversation.

Derek heard Stiles sigh, “Welp, I guess we should get going.”

“But dude, we don’t have to get ready for another hour.”

“Scott.” Stiles sounded strained, “I _really_ need your advice on this batman costume.”

“Dude, but you had that finished for-” There was a sound like Stiles punched Scott. Derek squashed down the urge to laugh as he groaned as quietly as he could. The small space wasn’t very conducive to hiding any noises, “Uh, you’re right man. You totally need help.”

As soon as they’d picked themselves up off the floor and headed out of the room, Derek sprang up from the bed and stared at the mirror on the back of their door.

“Fuck. How the hell am I supposed to get a decent costume?”

~*~

After rushing out to the nearest Halloween store to pick up a classic wolverine get-up that was _far_ too tight, he headed back to the dorm to change. The sales associate that had helped him had been massively enthusiastic so hopefully the costume would catch Stiles’ interests, comic books aside. Also the discount on the costume had been worth the ogling.

On the way, he called his frat bro, Boyd. He grilled him about the various Halloween themed events happening that night in about a half hour.

“I can only think of one man. I think it’s a DJ thing at Sheffield-17.”

“Thanks, Boyd.”

“Derek. Are you sure you should be doing this? We were told pretty clearly-”

“I know Boyd.”

“Ok, ok, man. Just… Don’t say shindig anymore ok? It makes you sound like you’re 60 years old.”

Derek rolled his eyes as he pulled his shoes off so he could wrestle himself into the costume. “I don’t have time for you whippersnapper assholes!” He hung up the phone with a smile amid Boyd’s laughter.

He got dressed, and damn if his ass really didn’t look better in these tights. Also his junk looked good. Leaving the dorm was an experience in catcalling and leers. He drove to the venue and found decent enough parking for showing up a half hour after the even started. The bar was swarming with bad costumes and a too few decent ones. Stiles would probably have one of the better ones if he’d worked on it and finished it weeks ago. There was a large amount of douchebags dressed up as Walter White, probably because they thought it was ‘cool.’ Fortunately the yellow from their hazmat suits were fluorescent enough that Derek could scan the crowd and pick out Scott, dressed up as the cowardly lion from _The Wizard of Oz_.

Cute idea, but Scott never struck him as the cowardly type. Stiles couldn’t be far from him though. He knew he was Batman, so that narrowed the population way down, so he just needed to look for one close to Sc-

No.

_No, but also Yes._

Wading through the crowd back to Scott, there was a Batman figure carrying two dark drinks. But this Batman was wearing his Batsuit as an armored crop top. He was wearing tight short shorts with a utility belt and the cape was bedazzled with shiny black gems on the shoulders like epaulettes.

Stiles was a _Sexy Batman_. Derek was sure that when he got close enough, he’d be able to pick out the telltale moles peppered across Stiles’ skin and the jerky way he always moved himself about, most likely complimentary on the dance floor. Or disastrous. He decided to do a walk-by, hopefully catching Stiles’ attention as he headed to the bar for a much-needed drink. Or maybe several shots and a drink.

_This is just for work. This is just for work. You’re hear to protect him. President’s orders. Don’t look at him, don’t make eye-contact, don’t look back._

He ordered a few drinks, leaning over the bar enough that his ass _had_ to be sticking out a bit. He downed the two shots of Fireball he was given and turned his back to the bar with his whiskey sour in hand, scanning the crowd again for Scott and Stiles. They were still where they had been standing, but Stiles was tugging on Scott, dragging him to the dance floor. From across the room he spotted a Catwoman looking at him like he was her next meal.

Maybe he could make Stiles jealous? Derek wasn’t really good at this seduction game, but he was afraid that just asking Stiles to dance with him would be too forward. Scott had abandoned Stiles at some point into the crowd and he was dancing with a girl with dark hair and a bow slung across her back. Just like Derek would expect from him, Stiles was dancing alone in the thick of the crowd.

His hands were stretched above him, arms like ribbons, the shiny black material of his gloves with their bedazzled knuckles glinting in the strobe lights of the bar. The electric thump of the music seemed to pulse through him as his body rolled and tensed to the beat. Derek felt himself moving through the thick bodies, but his eyes only caught the sweat that rolled over Stiles’ abs and disappeared behind the low slung utility belt. His eyes were closed, mouth parted in a loose smile.

When Derek was just getting close to Stiles, an arm caught him around the middle and there was a sultry voice in his ear “You’ve only been watching him since you got here. Do you want to make him jealous?” The voice was dark, but nice and Derek nodded, sliding his hand over the one wrapped around his waist.

The person attached to the voice spun Derek around and he was facing the Catwoman from across the room earlier. She gave him a feral smirk and latched onto his hips, pushing him close to Stiles and bumping into him on the way.

“My name is Erica.” she whispered against Derek’s neck.

“Derek.” She spun against Derek, rubbing her ass against his crotch while writhing to the intense thrum of the music. Over her shoulder, Derek could see that Stiles was staring at him, having picked up his own dance partner – a clumsy-looking but attractive Starbucks barista. Derek’s mask started to feel sticky, but he didn’t want Stiles to know it was him.

Erica laid her head back on his shoulder and turned to him. Her blood-red lipstick glistened in the green lights that flashed overhead, “We should make this more interesting.” She pushed off Derek and danced her way behind Derek so that he was facing Stiles. Her hands were on his thighs then, roving over his stomach and grabbing at his pecs.  She had Stiles’ full attention for sure. Derek’s skin felt hot against Erica and against the other dancers on his sides. He felt heady and light, like the air was full of steam. He bent an arm back to hold Erica’s shoulder against him as he twisted his body in ecstasy, gyrating against her body as his eyes slipped closed.

Not too long after, he felt a new set of hands settle on his hips. Stiles was holding onto him, stepping between his legs and grinding against him. Erica distanced herself and adjusted Derek’s hand so that it was snaking up the side of Stiles’ thigh before unwrapping herself from the pair and disappearing into the crowd.

Derek didn’t really realize just how hot Stiles was until he was pressed flush against him, breaths coming out in small grunts as their hips crashed into each other. He offered up a silent prayer of thanks to the creator of spandex Halloween costumes before bending down slightly to suck a mark onto Stiles’ neck. The eye-mask was making it a little difficult, but not so difficult that Stiles wasn’t clutching onto his back. His gasp disappeared into the electric atmosphere.

“Do you want to-“ Stiles groaned, “Get out? Take a smoke break?” Derek nodded and Stiles was tugging him out the side door into the alleyway next to the bar.

Outside, Stiles flicked open a snap pocket of his utility belt and pulled out a joint and a lighter. Derek didn’t know what to look at: the brick in front of him, Stiles’ long fingers now that he’d ripped off his gloves, the ground, his own shaking hands…

“Ever shotgunned before?” Derek shook his head. He didn’t even know what that was. Stiles smiled back at him, breathing out a drag from the joint. “I’ll show you. Just breathe in the smoke.” Derek nodded.

Stiles shoved himself off the wall and straddled Derek confidently. He shimmied up closer until his body was flat against him. He leaned back and took a hit from the joint, leaning back in and cupping Derek’s face. He shuddered and his lips parted as Stiles leaned in as if he were going to kiss him and breathed out the smoke into his mouth.

Thankfully he didn’t choke. _That_ would be embarrassing. Instead he felt _awesome_. He turned his head to the side to blow out the smoke and then Stiles was right back in his face, but this time kissing him.

He tasted like rum and weed and something else. Stiles did this thing with his tongue that Derek tried and failed to imitate but it felt great. Their masks mashed up against each other but except for a few black rhinestones falling off of Stiles’, nothing was getting in the way of Derek experiencing just how tender Stiles’ lips truly were. He pulled at Stiles’ lip gently with his teeth, running his tongue over them before losing himself in his mouth again.

Stiles wasn’t without his own tricks either. His hands had found where the spandex suit separated and he was running a hand under the tight yellow fabric, a thumb tracing the grooves of Derek’s abs. His other hand had slipped to the side and was slipping down into the tights, cupping the part of his ass that wasn’t pushed up against the brick.

Stiles’ hands were roaming up his body, massaging into his skin until they reached his face. He cupped Derek’s face, rubbing circles into cheek against the scruff and started to pull off Derek’s mask. Derek panicked, pulling the mask back down and tripping to the side in an effort to get away.

Holy shit?! Those drinks did him in pretty fast. Boyd was right – everything was the worst fucking idea he’s ever had in his short life. He was supposed to email the President tomorrow. What was he going to say? _Oh hello sir, I hope your weekend is going well. I shared in illicit substances with your son last night and we totally made out. Stiles says to check your cholesterol._

Hell. No.

“Um, I uh, I gotta get going, sorry.” Stiles’ looked dumbfounded. He hoped he made his voice different enough that Stiles wouldn’t immediately recognize it. With a stilted wave, he spun around and ran back to their dorm.

He stripped as quickly as he could and buried the costume in the back of his closet under his dirty laundry. Snagging his lounge pants, he rushed out of the room to the showers with his caddy.

When he walked back in, Stiles was sitting on the edge of his bed, head in hands. He looked bored and ticked off. He tried to act as if nothing was out of place, pulling the towel of his shoulders and running his hair though it again, before climbing in bed and falling fast asleep to the sound of Stiles’ heavy sighs.

~*~

“So we’re dancing right, and it’s hot, like super hot, like surface of the sun smanging it with satan kinda hot, and we go out to smoke and then he just bolts! Like what gives! He was _totally_ into it too. I don’t know if I said something wrong or what.”

“Stiles, this is not looking for secondary sources.” They were in the library again. Derek had come in early to scope out the study carrels and had snagged an empty one when a frazzled grad student left with far too many empty coffee cups to be healthy. Stiles had been regaling Derek with the entire story of his Halloween bar encounter since they’d woken up.

It made him feel so uncomfortable and honestly kind of shitty for just ditching him. Stiles would get over it though. He gets over things. If he’d stayed, it would have just been incredibly awkward when the masks came off. He’d have to explain so much creepy behavior: why he didn’t mention he’d be there (or alternatively, how he’d found out where they were going), where he’d been hiding his costume, why he was dancing and making out with Stiles. Yeah, Derek could fake some stuff but he wasn’t a good actor when the topic was this close to home. He was already pretending enough as it was.

Stiles groaned, collapsing over the desk with his hands in the air. “Derek, I don’t think you get it! He was the _perfect_ specimen of a man. His beard! Oh god, his _beard!_ ” Stiles groaned again, flopping backwards in his chair. For a moment, Derek thought he might actually tip over and crack his skull. Then he’d have to clean it up and call an ambulance. Literally everything about Stiles was exasperating.

Not to mention all of the groans he was making. He’d give anything to shut Stiles up. Maybe he could give him his-

“What did you do? You never pass out that early.” Shit. On the one hand, Stiles paid attention to him? On the other hand, shit. Stiles _pays attention to him_.

“Nothing. I was tired. I’m tired now.” Derek could feel his shoulders creep up with tension. This whole exchange was rapidly getting worse the long they talked about the other night.

“Well someone is testy!” If everything hadn’t been enough already, now Stiles was grinning! Actually smiling in the face of Derek’s annoyance!

“Well if someone would stop yacking about Mr. Fucking Perfect, we could get some work done! Jesus Stiles I’ll just find my own fucking sources.” Derek slammed his laptop shut and grabbed everything up into his arms shoving papers and pencils and his computer into his bag as he tried to make as clean an exit as he could from the library.

Surprised, Stiles sat with his mouth hanging open before he leapt up to do the same with his own possessions. “Wait! Derek! Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Just fucking do the work Stiles. And then we don’t need to pretend to talk to each other, ok?” He spun around on his heel, power-walking down the corridor to the turnstiles near the doors of the library.

Outside, he exhaled a breath he’d kept pent up in his chest as he escaped from Stiles. Crossing over to a bench, Derek pulled out a piece of gum from his bag and started chewing. There was no reason for him to be angry at Stiles. He had had an exciting time and he wanted to share it. Except Derek was horribly jealous of the guy in the mask. Which was himself. But also he was mad at the guy in the mask. Why hadn’t he stayed? Why did he freak out? Why was he so afraid of Stiles knowing he liked him?

~*~

The room was tense. He’d walked in on Stiles and Scott most likely whispering about him on Stiles’ bed. Now however, Scott and Stiles were wearing matching bitchfaces.

“What?”

“Nothing asshole.”

It was like that for weeks. As if Derek couldn’t just be pissy for one day, he had to be perfectly scowl-y and bitter and just to Stiles’ liking. So no churros, no coffees, no conversations about the brat pack – nothing was going on between them.

Except glares.

After week two Derek started with the pleading for Stiles to get over it which quickly became feeling indignant that Stiles was being so stubborn and then they were right back at the beginning of their mess.

After the second day, Scott banned Stiles from saying Derek’s name.

~*~

“Well hey there buddy!” Derek turned around. Boyd was standing with a PBR in one hand and a blonde girl in the other and she was currently sizing him up and prodding him in the chest. “Fancy seeing you here. No tights this time?”

Oh shit. It was _her_.

“Ohhh!!! Heyyy!!! How are ya?” Derek exclaimed with fake cheer. Erica grimaced and pulled back a bit.

“Oh wow, ew. You were right Boyd, he’s pretty fucked up. Derek, I liked you way better when you were broody and tryna with that cute Batman.” Boyd raised his eyebrows.

“Cute Batman, huh?”

“Shut up Boyd. Go watch the door.”

Boy gave Erica a smile and pushed her toward the entrance to the basement, reaching out a hand to turn Derek’s shoulder.

“Look, I get it. You’re bent out of shape about Stiles, but you need to do your job Derek.”

“I didn’t sign up for this. He said I wouldn’t have to watch too closely. He’s not a wild kid.”

“Get over it Derek. It’s not all about you.”

Boyd left with a clap to his shoulder and Derek went to tap the keg. He made sure the upstairs door to the house was locked. No need for a repeat of last year when the brothers came into the house the next day to find the kitchen a disaster of half-assed grilled cheeses and beer cans.

When Derek came back downstairs, Boyd was waiting with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Dude, your favorite person is here and I think Erica is either going to eat him or make you.” Derek groaned.

~*~

“Hey Batman!” Stiles gave the blonde in front of him a once-over.

“Do I know you?” Scott looked equally bewildered, but he was far too busy worrying how he looked in case Allison was at the party. She said she’d be at the party. She wouldn’t stand him up, would she?

Stiles slapped away Scott’s hand as he went to check his hair for the umpteenth time. “Kinda,” the girl sing-songed, “We had this really hot guy between us at that bar near Halloween?”

“Ohhhh!!” Of course she had to be a reminder of the only shining moment in Stiles’ love life that consequently ended in terrible disaster. “Sexy Catwoman!”

She smiled, pearly white teeth and blood red lipstick. “Please, Catwoman is _always_ sexy. Wanna go in, boys?” Erica stepped out of the way of the basement door.

They climbed down the steps to a half dark basement. People were milling around so they hadn’t arrived too early. He surveyed the crowd, looking for faces he knew and a bar to grab a drink from.

Stiles froze. Next to a tall, broad man was Derek glaring directly at Stiles over his solo cup.

“Scott!” Then there was Allison then smiling, brilliant and waving. She was standing next to a very gorgeous strawberry blonde. There went his wingman and his only chance of escape.

_Jesus, Stiles, ignore the asshole._

He rolled his eyes and walked away to go find some cheap beer or rum. With Scott distracted, there wasn’t much for Stiles to do except stand awkwardly next to the keg and act like he was texting.

“Yo, yo! Anyone for Slapcup?!” yelled some fratty dude in a yellow lax pinnie. He was carrying two pitchers of beer and a tower of solo cups with a dopey half-drunk grin plastered across his features. In his own way, he was cute. He had nice freckles and reddish brown hair and beard.

_Might as well._

Stiles wandered to the table on the right of the frat dude and watched as he set up the cups in a cluster in the center of the room, pouring a little beer in all of them and filling the centermost cup full to the brim.

“So uh, how do you play?” The fratty dude turned to Stiles and smiled, glad to impart his knowledge of sacred frat arts to a newcomer.

“Ok, li’l dude lemme tell you,” he said as he clapped a sweaty hand on Stiles’ shoulder, “Have you ever played knockout, or… what d’they call it in Michigan? Oh! Lightning! Anyway, that basketball game?” Stiles nodded. “Yeah, ok, it’s like that, but you take an empty cup and bounce a ping pong ball in it and pass in a circle, and if someone knocks you out you gotta drink a cup and keep going. If you bounce the ball in on your first go, you can pass it anywhere, so if you pass backwards and knockout the person that was before you, then you’re ‘fucking’ them. It’s great. Last dude has t’drink the full cup. Got it?”

“I think so?” The frat dude grinned at Stiles, squeezing his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it when we play. If I don’t keep ya drinking anyway! Hey, Hale! Come fuck this dude with me!” the frat dude yelled across the basement, winking at Stiles.

_Fuck._

“Jesus, Colby, be more gay, I dare you.” Derek sounded less angry than he had the past few weeks, and this was the most words Stiles had heard from the guy in a long while.

“Aw c’mon Hale! You know I have a thing for skinny guys!” Maybe if Stiles were a bit more drunk he’d tap that just to be an asshole to Derek. The frat dude – Colby – winked at Stiles and passed Stiles and a girl across the table an empty cup and a ping pong ball. “Yo Ashley, ready? Ok Go!”

Stiles got it in on his first try and passed the cup over Derek, just to spite him. The cups went around peacefully at first until they were back to Stiles and Colby. Colby slapped Stiles’ cup and he grabbed a new one to drink. Derek was struggling with the wet table as Stiles bounced the ball in effortlessly and slapped Derek’s cup.

Colby was laughing at Derek and the girl to Derek’s right in the purple jersey had an evil glint in her eye as Stiles passed his cup to her.

Turns out that evil glint was her intent to fuck Derek Hale in Slapcup. She passed the cup back after an easy bounce and sent the cup back to Stiles who obliged in turn with another quick shot, sending Derek’s cup flying with a spray of warm Natty Light.

“Keep up, Hale! They’re gonna fuck you!” Colby was in fits, his face growing redder with his laughter and the alcohol. Derek looked calm, even though he was chugging the beer as fast as he could, glaring at everyone staring at him, Stiles especially.

Stiles was smiling and mocking him with his eyes.

They kept going on until Derek finally got out of the loop and passed his cup away and the one Stiles sent him across the table. Maybe frat parties weren’t that bad once you got playing a game in a big group, and being surrounded by hot, sweaty frat boys doesn’t hurt so much either.

In the end, Stiles ended up getting the last cup after someone maliciously passed to Colby just as he finished and passed to Stiles.

Stiles broke away from the group to find Scott but was stopped by a hand around his bicep. Looking back, the hand was clearly connected to one Derek Hale.

“No, you’re coming to play flipcup with me. I don’t lose that easily.”

“Yeah, ok, fucker.”

It went like that for a while. Stiles and Derek would hop between the basement and the different floors of the house wherever someone was playing a drinking game until both Stiles and Derek were sloshed, laughing at bad jokes and Derek accidentally slamming his hand into his full cup of beer when he was trying to bounce a quarter. Victory shots on both ends were also involved. Also a very unwise shot ski.

“Are you, um, coming back to the room, or are you gonna sleep here?” Derek’s smile fell a bit. He could hear Stiles breath in the loud room around them and the flashing lights reflected in Stiles’ eyes.

“I’m sorry I was an ass.”

“Whatever man. I was too. I’m not an idiot. I know I’m a freshman and everything is wild and new, but I thought… I dunno, I thought you were finally warming up to me. I came to college to make friends. You’re so back and forth though. You were awful and then I thought you were really considerate and then the library and then now?” Derek sighed and looked around. He got up from the dingy couch they were sitting on and held out a hand.

“What?”

“C’mon. Let’s go back to the room.” Stiles smiled curiously, accepting Derek’s hand, breath catching when Derek’s hand didn’t slip out of his grasp when he was standing up.

“Derek?” He just smirked.

They shuffled back to the dorm, ignoring Colby’s extended “YOOOOOOOO!” and raised solo cup when they climbed up from the basement to the sidewalk outside.

“I was mad because I was jealous that you might like another guy. I didn’t want you to think I only liked you because you were the President’s kid or because I was possessive or something,” confessed Derek quietly, about a block from their dorm.

“So you were an asshole to me? And didn’t tell me you knew who I was? I haven’t even told Scott.”

“Yeah, I’m actually surprised you pulled off no one knowing. So, I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were trying to make my life hell with the shirtlessness and the cozy sweaters and shit.”

“Me?!” They stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, Derek gawking at Stiles, “Do you know how frustrating it was to watch you eat Cheetos? Your fingers are fucking distracting when I’m writing shitty history papers.”

Stiles’ cheeks flushed, and his hand twitched in Derek’s. “You _like_ history papers though! And for the record, you’re the one that comes into the room after showering and _air-dries._ No one sits in a towel for two hours after a shower unless they’re purposely being a dickwad.”

“Payback for your neck!”

“Rude! What’s with my neck?”

“It’s so long!”

“Yo! JUST FUCK ALREADY!” Derek and Stiles jumped and started laughing at the shout from the disembodied voice above them.

“Guess that’s our cue to keep walking.”

“Yeah.” Derek dropped Stiles’ hand the rest of the way back to their room.

_Fuck whoever that cockblock was, goddammit._

When they shut the door behind them, Stiles headed over to his bed and collapsed on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Derek opened up his laptop and started playing Satie’s Gymnopédies quietly. Stiles turned his head curiously as Derek stood up and fixed him with a semi-glazed stare. He walked towards Stiles, unbuttoning his Henley. He pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor, climbing onto Stiles’ bed and straddling his legs over Stiles’ waist, careful not to put any weight on to him.

Stiles’ lips hung open, drying as his breath shuddered over them. Derek leaned down to Stiles’ ear, hovering so close Stiles could feel the heat from his lips, “Can I kiss you, Stiles?”

Stiles nodded, whispering back, “Can I touch you?” Derek nodded. Stiles gingerly placed his fingertips on Derek’s chest, feeling the smoothness of his skin over muscle, the dip under his pecs as they met his stomach and abs. Derek trailed light kisses across Stiles’ jaw from his ear to his cheek and to the corner of his lips, before framing his face with his hands and pressing his lips to Stiles’. Stiles hummed and Derek smiled, gaining confidence in the noises Stiles made as he kissed him, tasting his lips with his tongue, and rubbing small circles on his cheek with his thumb.

Stiles trailed his fingers across Derek’s skin, circling the waistband of his jeans, coming around to start unbuttoning them. Derek chuckled against his lips, moving to tug up Stiles’ t-shirt. Stiles leaned up to pull it over his head. Derek climbed off to pull off his pants and boxers while Stiles shimmied out of his own.

“Ready?” Derek mocked Stiles.

“Please, you just seduced me to Satie.”

Derek shrugged, “True. It worked though.” He climbed over Stiles again and kissed him, tracking the tension of his neck with his tongue, lapping at the contours of his clavicle and down to his chest, taking Stiles’ right nipple in his mouth. Derek swirled his tongue around until it felt hard. He could grazed his teeth over it gently, lips twitching into a smirk at Stiles’ choked gasp.

Stiles arched his back, digging a fist into the sheets next to him. Derek blew warm breath over Stiles’ nipple and continued on his course down Stiles’ body, kissing each rib on his way down to Stiles’ hardening cock.

“Derek, c’mon, please.” Derek leered at Stiles through his lashes.

He cocked his head to the side. “Begging already?” Derek nuzzled the base of Stiles’ cock, before sliding his tongue up the shaft and around the head of his cock. Stiles moaned, squeezing a hand on Derek’s shoulder and opening his legs up more. Derek opened his mouth wide and deepthroated Stiles, before pulling back and working the head of his cock more.

The noises Stiles was making drove Derek crazy, until Stiles’ whimpers matched the volume of Derek’s slurping. Derek swallowed while Stiles was in his mouth and Stiles bucked up into Derek’s mouth. Derek cupped Stiles’ balls in one hand while he gripped the base of his cock in the other.

“The noises,” Stiles groaned, “you’re making are driving me _nuts._ ” Derek paused, wiping away some spit from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“ _Your_ noises make me want to fuck you.”

“So do it.” Derek stopped on his way back down to Stiles’ cock.

“You want me to fuck you?”

Stiles turned to the side. His blank wall was very interesting. “If you want, I mean.”

“Ok. Uh, just give me a sec to grab stuff.” Derek climbed off Stiles, leaving a hand to drag across his leg until he was too far to touch him. He rummaged around in his nightstand drawer and came back with lube and a condom.

Derek squeezed some out on his fingers and pressed them against Stiles’ hole, just getting him ready, circling around and increasing the pressure until he felt the lube start to get tacky. He added more lube to his fingers and began to push in slightly, stretching and massaging Stiles open for him. He leaned over and pressed open-mouthed, wet kisses onto Stiles’ skin, traveling up and down the insides of his thighs and across his abdomen. No skin would go without worship.

“God, Derek.” He smiled, looking into Stiles’ eyes as he pressed his index finger fully into Stiles. He pushed back on him as he pressed in further. He started to build up a rhythm with Stiles’ needy wriggles, fucking himself on Derek’s fingers until he added another finger and Stiles had to slow down, adjusting to him. Derek bent his fingers inside of Stiles to brush against his prostate and he mewled, twisting to the side to get away from the overwhelming pleasure and just as soon rolling back for more. Derek nipped at Stiles’ thighs, holding him still with a hand on his knee.

In a brief pause as Derek let him adjust to a third finger pushing in, Stiles whispered, “This is my uh, first time.”

“Mine too.” Stiles’ eyes snapped up to Derek’s.

“You’ve never…?” Derek shrugged, blinking slowly.

“No one I cared about to do it with.” Derek looked back down to his fingers, twisting them slightly as he stretched Stiles.

“Oh.” They were silent, except their heavy breaths, which felt like fog in the air. After a few minutes, Stiles seemed to relax. “I think I’m ready, if you are.”

“Are you sure? I’m a little bigger than average. I don’t wanna hurt you.” Stiles’ eyes flicked open and he propped himself up on his elbows so he could look at Derek’s face more directly.

“Well unless you have a massive pornstar dick, I’m pretty sure I’m ok now. Actually more than ok.”

“Well I just mean I’m thicker, you know?” Stiles rolled his eyes and leveled an unamused look at him.

“Oh my god, Derek. Fine, parade your dick or whatever.” Derek rolled his eyes right back but leaned back on his haunches to slowly tug at his already hard cock. Stiles felt a pang of jealousy rip through him. Derek had had all the fun working him up but he totally missed out on having _that_ in his mouth. _Fuck_.

“Yeah, I definitely want that in me.”

Derek nodded, laughing at the awkwardness and opened a condom packet with his teeth. Stiles watched him roll on the condom and squeeze out more lube, twisting his fist around his cock. He lined himself up and pressed the head of his dick slowly into Stiles with a comically serious expression plastered all over his face.

Stiles closed his eyes as Derek entered him. He pushed in little by little until his hips were pressed against Stiles’ and stopped. Stiles had clenched his eyes tightly, breathing shallowly as he adjusted to the feeling of Derek inside him. Derek tried to keep himself as still as possible as he massaged Stiles’ thighs with his hands.

After a minute, Stiles opened his eyes. “Hey, I’m ok if you want to move.” Derek glanced up at him.

“Yeah, um, I’m not ready. You’re _really_ tight.”

“Oh. Thank you?”

“Just gimme a sec.” They were quiet again for a few seconds until Stiles slowly grinned and started flexing his muscles and pushing back on Derek. “Jesus, fuck Stiles, if you keep doing that I’m gonna come in five seconds.”

Stiles laughed, “Then you better get going!” Derek pulled back and started to push in. Stiles stopped squirming so much and arched his back, ass quivering at the sensation of Derek sliding out of him. He went slowly at first, but when Stiles started pulling on his hips, he picked up the pace.

“Fuck, who knew how eager you’d be in bed?” Derek grunted out, snapping his hips into him deeper and deeper, relishing in the little noises both of them were making. Stiles’ skin glinted, reflecting the light that slipped through the curtains. He watched Derek’s eyes track the sheen of his sweat from his neck to his stomach.

“I knew. You just didn’t ask. Derek, touch me.” Stiles grabbed a handful of his bicep as Derek started jacking him off and clenching his hip tightly.

“Stiles, I’m-“

“Me too.”

Derek could only thrust into Stiles a few more times before he was biting his lips and dropping his head down in surrender to his climax. Stiles dug his nails into his shoulders, writhing below as Derek’s cock throbbed inside of him. He came, his ass clenching around Derek, who moaned, while trying to stifle his own moans with his pillow.

There was heavy breathing and sweat. Stiles’ biceps twitched and Derek’s shoulders relaxed from their tensed up position. He slowly pulled out and tied off the condom, throwing it away. He leaned over Stiles and pressed his forehead to the mattress next to his head.

“I like you Stiles. It kinda freaked me out. I’m sorry.” Stiles turned his head, his nose brushing Derek’s stubbled cheek.

“I’m scared because I like you too,” he whispered.

Derek nosed at Stiles’ neck, laying soft kisses as he draped himself half over Stiles. In time, Stiles’ softer breathes in Derek’s hair lulled him to sleep.

~*~

In the morning, Stiles was alone. Normally, that wouldn’t be so odd, but Stiles sort of expected him to still be there in the morning. Some of the night before was hazy, but the sex was definitely not.

_Did he tell me he liked me? Or was that a dream?_

His hangover was not a dream however. Stiles rolled out of his bed, realizing he was completely naked, and put on some shorts. He took a shower to wash off the stench of stale beer and sex and put on some comfy clothes.

There was a shortcut to the nearest Starbucks to Stiles’ dorm that everyone learned in a week, if that. You had to go around the back of the building and through an alleyway, but then you went up a narrow street and you were right behind the coffee shop. It saved at least 5 minutes of walking around the block, so everyone used it.

Today, a large, beige van was ambling down the narrow street into the alley, which was totally the wrong direction. Stiles shook his head at the shitty drivers around here and continued walking, until the van stopped and backed up.

He should’ve run. He should’ve, but he didn’t. How many years had his dad drilled it into his head to be aware of his surroundings? To be cautious of suspicious vehicles? To not be so fucking complacent? The man and woman jumping out of the back with weapons should’ve been the biggest clue of all, but Stiles was too stunned to move when the man thumped a rod against his temple and knocked him out cold.

~*~

“You kept yourself out of the spotlight pretty well, you know that Mr. Stilinski?” Stiles’ vision was fading in. The man’s voice felt like it came through a watery filter, but he could understand the words well enough.

Shadows crept around his vision like grins, ready to bare their sharp teeth. His head felt heavy, like he’d woken up from a nap too early or too late. There were industrial lights above them, the pain coming through the fog to hit in the back of the head. Stiles groaned.

“Oh, quit whining. This is just about money. We just want a quick buck and you’re the quickest buck around.” A woman this time. He could see a light brown halo around her head until his eyesight cleared and her aquiline features blossomed through the haze.

Her smile was predatory.

“You’re,” Stiles wheezed, breath shuddering over his dried throat, “not going to get away with this.” It was a weak warning. In fact it just seemed all so cliché to Stiles. Here he was trying to intimidate some criminals by using his dad. They laughed, the three of them and one of the men slapped Stiles.

“Stop being a little shit. We’re gonna film this fucking video, send it off to your daddy and then we’re gonna beat the shit out of ya before we get our money.” A third voice, somewhere behind Stiles. He tried to turn, but was held by the duct tape pinning him to a fold out metal chair. This would probably hamper his bondage fantasies for a while.

The man walked around in front of Stiles and rested his hands on his hips. He was an old man with glasses and wore a worn-out, gray athletic sweatshirt that read ‘coach.’ The other man was balding, white-haired and older. He only seemed to wear black. The woman was, admittedly, gorgeous, but she looked like the type of woman that might have been a praying mantis in a past life. If she were wearing heels instead of the combat boots, they would have daggers instead of heels. She looked far too comfortable with a gun for Stiles’ taste. If you could call a clearly semi-automatic rifle just ‘a gun.’

“Lahey, set up the camera.” The old man in the gray sweatshirt padded over to a folding table full of equipment and reached for a tripod. Just as he was reaching for it, however, the door to the building they were in (an abandoned warehouse?) opened and a sliver of light leaked through, cutting across the room as easily as a thunder through clouds.

“Kate.” The woman flicked the safety off her rifle and strafed to the wall of the warehouse, keeping a vigilant eye on doorway. If it weren’t life and death for Stiles, this might seem like a bad sitcom or B movie. Instead an old man was holding a gun to his head while a woman made ready to kill whomever was stupid enough to open that door.

“No one, dad.” She – Kate – pulled the door closed just a moment too late as two objects came hurtling through the crack in the door. The first exploded in a dazzling display like fireworks. Bright, hot stars of sizzling energy rocketed out in every direction, blinding everyone in the room, including Stiles. The second spewed out thick ashy-gray smoke and cloaked the whole room in an impenetrable fog.

  _Get low, idiot!_

Stiles threw all of his weight to his right and toppled over the chair, keeping his tongue away from his teeth and tipping his head to the left once his balance was off center so he wouldn’t slam his skull into the concrete.

The crash was booming in the silence that had followed the smoke bomb. From the floor, as the spots cleared from his eyes, he could see boots trampling quietly across the floor. The smoke hovered above Stiles’ head and he saw Kate’s boots jerk back and then her body as it fell through the gas and fell against the ground as she clutched her throat and gagged for air. One of the other boots that had come in straddled her and roughly yanked her hands around to cuff her.

From the other side of the room, Stiles couldn’t see anything, but he heard the shouts and a few gunshots ring out. Even with the loud cracks of a bullets escaping their casings, he could still hear the groans from the men, the only kind of groans you hear when people die, as if the blood from the gunshots floods their vocal chords and melts down their voices into a singular mournful gurgle.

It was the kind of groan that makes nightmares more real.

“Stiles?! Stiles?” Stiles knew that voice. He knew it because he’d heard it say his name so much more gently even a few hours ago. He knew how it felt in his ears and how it felt coming off _his_ lips and the taste that followed. He knew it when it languished in ecstasy.

“I’m here.” Why was Derek here? Those boots that shuffled in were all matching and official looking. They looked government. Why was Derek here?

Stiles felt hands behind him, pulling him against the chair accidentally as they cut away the duct tape that bound him. The smoke was starting to thin out quickly. He could see Kate on the other wall almost clearly as she sat against it looking venomous. The person freeing him came around and cut through the duct tape around his legs as well. His face was obscured by a helmet and gasmask, but Stiles knew who it was. He could feel it in the way Derek held his ankle as he tried to yank through the tape. He could feel it in the quick desperate glances thrown his way despite all the static and curt commands filtering through his radio.

Stiles hated him for it.

He looked around the warehouse, at the dead and wounded terrorists, yelling, “You work for my dad?!”

He ripped off Derek’s gasmask and helmet, throwing them onto the concrete as he stood up. “Stiles, look, I was supposed to keep you safe.” Derek holstered his knife, as the radio kept clicking in with static and grainy voices.

“Yeah, I’m super safe! Thanks for that, asshole! I can’t believe you and my dad _lied_ to me.” Derek pulled out his knife again to cut the zipties binding Stiles’ wrists, and dodged the fist that came flying.

“We didn’t lie, just… omitted the fact that we were going to keep you safe this way, that’s all. I mean look! What if we weren’t here? What if Boyd hadn’t seen you in that alleyway?” He glanced over to Boyd, standing next to Kate, pretending not to notice the drama unfold. Stiles was so angry. He was biting his lip, tasting the hot new blood that gushed out of the barely scabbed split. He clenched his eyes shut, begging for the tears to stay back. He failed miserably.

“I let you _kiss_ me! I let you _fuck_ me! You were my first! Did you feel like you were doing your _patriotic_ duty to A-fucking-merica?! Were you _paid_ to fuck me?” Derek’s eyes snapped to Stiles, shocked.

“No! That’s not fair Stiles, That’s not-“ Stiles slapped Derek across the face. Derek didn’t expect it this time, looked shocked when he looked back at Stiles. Stiles’ cheeks were red and tears rushed down his cheeks. He tried wiped at them, thanking whatever god let him reign them back in.

“No!” he choked, “Unfair is being lied to and having your feelings played like a joke. Get close to me and keep watch better. Fuck me for fun, avoid me because I’m annoying. I know I’m annoying Derek, _if that’s your fucking name_. Unfair is finding out you care about a fake identity. That’s unfair, _Agent Hale_. Boyd, get me the fuck out of this place.”

“Yes, sir.” Stiles didn’t miss the look Boyd gave Derek – part pissed, part pitying and part like he didn’t want to touch this situation with a ten-foot pole. He didn’t miss the stony look Derek tried to put on over his crestfallen eyes.

_What did he have to cry over anyway?_

Stiles didn’t look back, but in the government-issue SUV with its tinted windows, Stiles broke apart. The worst part was that he couldn’t get the smiles out of his head: when he sloshed the beer out of his cup just last night and tried to wipe it off Stiles; when Stiles would act put upon when Derek came into the room half naked; when he took Stiles into his wet mouth; when he kissed him asleep.

Boyd passed him tissues from the glove compartment.

~*~

“Hi, yeah, I need a room transfer.” The clerk at the Office of Residential Life was a saggy-face woman with an awful perm and a yellow number 2 pencil behind her ears. Stiles could forgive the polka dot sweater and bad attitude, but the pencil was just unforgiveable.

“Yeah you and every pair of idiots that fight over their xbox.” She rolled her eyes and grabbed a form from a stack of file organizers, “Fill this out and we’ll see about next quarter.”

Stiles paused mid filling out the form. He hated pulling this crap, but sometimes it had to be done. Fake-smiling as best he could Stiles turned his form over the ledge so that the clerk could read it. “Yeah, see that’s no good. I’m in a _really_ bad situation and normally I don’t like to be a hassle but you see my last name? Yeah my dad’s the president. Of the United States and I’m just in a no-good terrible place and if you could get me a room somewhere else, like, you know, a different building, that would _really_ help me out… Sylvia.”

Sylvia’s eyes started to grow wide before she glowered at him. “I’m sure Stilinski is a common name. What’s your student ID? I’ll check your address, Mr… Stiles.”

Stiles smirked. “Go ahead. 2649-7518-0.” Sylvia clacked her talons against the keyboard and stared at the computer, sour and bored. Stiles caught the flash of the page loading and watched as Sylvia’s features changed completely as she whispered _1600 Pennsylvania Avenue_ under her breath. She coughed and glanced up at Stiles.

“Um yes! I’d be delighted to help you on this personally! Any preference for room placement, Mr. Stilinski?”

~*~

“Scott! Scott I know you’re in there, you forgot to mute your Wii.” Derek was about to pound his fist against the door until Scott wrenched it open and he ended up smacking Scott in the forehead, sending him reeling backwards. “Oh shit dude, I’m sorry! I didn’t expect the door to open right then.”

“What do you want, meanie-butt?” Scott’s arms were crossed across his bare chest. The cheery tinkling music of the game in the background contrasted Scott’s pinched face. A character jumped around in the idle period in the corner of Derek’s eye.

“Meanie-butt? And Wii Fit? Really?”

“Wii Fit is a _legitimate_ workout routine as long as you do the leg parts too. What do you want Derek?” Uninvited, he sat down in Scott’s bowl chair, twisting his hands like a kid outside of the principal’s office.

“I need your help getting Stiles back. We, uh, got into a fight, and I never got to tell him I liked him. He just moved out when I was away.” Scott’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the door as if Stiles’ might rush in at any moment and sat down on his bed. Derek just noticed there was another person in the room sleeping in a pile of clothes and crunch bar wrappers. Scott followed Derek’s eyes to his roommate.

“Oh don’t worry about Greenberg. He’s just Greenberg. And seriously dude? Fight? Level with me. You’re Secret Service and you were a dick because Stiles didn’t want to be followed to school.”

“You know?”

“Duh dude. Stiles is my best friend. We’re bros. And I knew he was the President Stilinski’s son as soon as he said his last name. I just thought it was one of those things we didn’t talk about because he wanted to be normal. You fucked up Derek. You should’ve just told him.”

Derek rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath. “I couldn’t just do that Scott. It’s not like I stalked him or tapped his phone. I just needed him to trust me enough that I could be aware of his whereabouts. And look at us here,” he gestured around to the world, “Stiles got kidnapped and we were the first on the scene to rescue him. It was necessary.”

“No!” Scott barked, pointing accusingly, “Being _honest_ is necessary. You guys totally had sex after that party and you did that while _lying_ to Stiles. The issue isn’t saving him or being Secret Service, it’s that you betrayed Stiles’ trust and you took advantage of the situation to get into his pants.”

“Wait, no, I didn’t do that! I didn’t use my position to try and seduce-”

“Well it looks that way to him, Mr. Secret Service Professional Liar, asshole!”

Derek was cowed. Scott was totally right. Even if he didn’t mean to go about it that way, even if it wasn’t his intention, he still ended up hurting Stiles.

“So how do I make it up to him? I’ve never- I’m not good at relationships.” Scott sighed, motioning Derek to scoot over in the bowl chair. There really wasn’t any room for Derek and now there was negative space for him _and_ Scott. He didn’t seem to care as he squished into Derek’s side and patted his knee though.

“Look, you’re gonna have to plan an awesome date. Like, _seriously_ awesome. And you’re gonna have to grovel. Totally beg for it, like the piece of shit he’s trying to tell himself you are. Also you’re gonna have to ask his dad if it’s ok. If anything is gonna soften Stiles up, it’ll be his dad. Also wear something stupid so he can laugh at you.”

“Thanks Scott. You’re a really good best friend.”

Scott beamed one of his trademark, razzle-dazzle smiles at him. “I know!”

~*~

When Stiles turned the corner to his hallway he wasn’t expecting to see Derek sitting with his head on his knees against a wall. He had flowers upturned and dejected between his hands as if he’d gotten tired of holding them. He almost turned around as soon as he spotted him, but he’d obviously been there a while and didn’t look like he was about to leave anytime soon. If anything he could just brush by him angrily and slam the door in his face. Yeah. That’d show him.

Instead, as Stiles neared his door, Derek stood up sharply and brushed himself off, looking a bit flustered as he tried to compose himself.

Props on the flowers. Stiles wasn’t about to admit that he really enjoyed the flowers to Derek but it was certainly adorable.

“What are you doing here?” Derek looked like he was going to say something but it seemed that Stiles’ question cut him down in an instant. He floundered, blushing, and shifted his weight.

“I uh,” he began, “came to ask you on a date. Uh, tonight if you weren’t busy.”

Stiles arched his eyebrow. “Really? And what would make you think I would say yes to that?” He crossed his arms and leaned against his door, holding his keys loosely so that they jingled against each other. Stiles was pretty proud of himself in the moment – acting like Derek was taking up some of his precious time. Derek looked like he would be sweating buckets if he were a cartoon character.

“Look,” Derek sighed glancing down at his feet and back up to Stiles with a little more confidence, “I know we really didn’t start off on the right foot at all. I get that. I want to make it up to you. Even if you don’t want to date me, at least let me take you out tonight for dinner so I can apologize.” That seemed genuine enough to Stiles. He was nervous enough anyway for Stiles to believe him. Derek was always so stoic and confident. He looked wrecked with anxiety.

“And how do I know that you’re not just trying to babysit me?”

Stiles still looked prickled to Derek. If he were a cat, his hackles would be raised and he’d be hissing out all of his words. “Um, I quit. I called the Pres- your dad. He tried to tell me it was partially his fault too-”

“Oh it is. And I’ve already had _that_ little chat.” Venom. Absolute venom in that sentence.

“Uh yeah, but I told him it was really my fault, because I lied to you. What I did was wrong, Stiles, and I want to say I’m sorry. Also give you these.” Derek pushed the bouquet at Stiles. They looked like they actually came from a real florist rather than the bodega down the street from the university center. The mix of differently colored peonies smelled really wonderful and he could feel his resolve weakening to Derek’s supplication. He’d called his _dad._

“One date,” he answered to the flowers before looking up at Derek’s hopeful expression, “to apologize.”

~*~

“So… Where are we going?”

“Museum Plaza.” Museum plaza was a square in downtown Beacon Hills with three adjoined museums. You could go to one or buy a ticket to all three for the day and cross between the aquarium, zoo and planetarium. It was one of Stiles’ favorite places in the town but he didn’t think he had told Derek that?

“Oh ok. Cool.”

The drive was short in Derek’s _very_ nice Camaro. Soon they were heading to the entrance of the aquarium where an attendant was holding a gate open.

“Shouldn’t Museum Plaza be closed though?”

Derek smirked at Stiles, “Not tonight.” He ushered Stiles through the gate with a soft hand pressed to his lower back, through the dark corridor to the lobby. Another attendant held open the door to the main aquarium down a few steps below ground.

Inside the wide open room, a table sat set for two. With candles lit and two plates with cloches keeping their first course warm with a red wine poured already for the two of them, it was a wet dream from every romance novel Stiles had shamefully read under the cover of night.

They were going to have a romantic, candle lit dinner underneath a massive aquarium with beautiful fish swimming around them. Already Stiles could feel himself giving up against Derek’s charm. For goodness sake, the lights above the aquarium made water-light ripple all over the floor and the room! Derek even pulled the chair out for Stiles.

Dinner was wonderful: lamb chops with mint, asparagus spears and rosemary potatoes. Conversation was easy, as if nothing really had gotten in the way between them and Derek’s surprise laughter echoed in the empty space. Derek couldn’t help but track the ripples from the water cross across Stiles’ pale skin, the light and shadow playing against his lips and cheeks. By the end of their meal, Stiles was feeling pretty forgiving, even if he didn’t want Derek to know it.

Maybe the hand-holding said it.

After traversing the aquarium, Derek pulled Stiles through to the zoo side of the museum and out into the night air. On the ground were two electric lanterns. Derek picked them up and handed one to Stiles, taking his hand again and walking through the dirt paths.

“I thought, you know, no one gets to really see the nocturnal animals, and I thought it’d be fun.” A hyena laughed somewhere in the distance, though it was hard to tell from which direction it came.

Stiles laughed, “Or creepy?”

“Or creepy,” Derek agreed. “Either way, I thought you’d like it.”

“I like it.” He blushed. The pink flush was matched by Derek as well, orange-ish in the glow from the camping lanterns. “But you know what?” Derek quirked and eyebrow at him, tilting to look at him more directly. Stiles, smacked an open hand into Derek’s stomach and took off running. “You’re it!”

With an ‘oof!’ Derek followed after Stiles’ uninhibited laughter, yelling about tickle monster threats and various other devious plans for revenge.

They ran all over the zoo, hiding halfway between exhibits and using their lanterns as decoys. At one point, Stiles hid in a tree that crossed over to the lemur exhibit and dropped onto an unsuspecting Derek before scampering off again into the dark night.

The hyenas laughed back at them.

Eventually Stiles’ got tired and let Derek catch up with him a final time.

“So,” Derek breathed heavily, having just run from the rhinos, “ready for dessert?”

When they got to the gate to the planetarium, the first attendant was holding open the gate for them, desperately trying to hide a smile at their obvious excitement.

On the dais in the middle of the circular room was a gingham picnic cloth, a basket and an ice bucket with champagne chilling inside.

“This is really sweet, Derek.” Derek hid his smile with the task of opening the champagne. He filled the two flutes and handed one to Stiles.

“Actually, I realized in the aquarium that it’s all downhill from here. I raised the bar too high!” He shrugged, taking a sip from the flute and opened the basket. He pulled out a pie and some fruit and cheese. “I didn’t really know whether you were a heavy or light dessert kind of guy, so I just did both.”

“Um, porque no las dos, dude.” Derek paused staring at Stiles as if he were supposed to understand. “Just an old commercial. The taco ones, you know?” Derek gave him his best sturgeon face while shaking his head. “Oh classic man, I’ll show you on youtube later.”

Derek leaned back on his elbows and grinned, “Ok.”

They munched on the fruit and cheese for a while, eventually digging into the pie (Dutch apple of course) with two forks and downing the champagne. Sated and a little drowsy from the wine, Stiles laid down, scooting over until his side was pressed to Derek’s. A whirring noise began behind them and the sky doors began to part above them so that the stars and night sky were visible through the Plexiglas ceiling.

“It was me, you know,” Derek began, “At the club Halloweekend. I wasn’t going so I could protect you. I just really wanted to see you. I thought maybe I might get to dance with you. Maybe I could buy you a drink and I could tell you how I felt.”

By now, Stiles was propped up on an elbow looking down at Derek critically while he confessed, “I thought, ‘Maybe I could show him I really care about him, and I could ask him on a date.’ And then Erica came over and said, ‘Let’s make him jealous,’ and obviously it worked because you came over and she left and dancing with you was the most fun I have ever had, apart from our after-party activities you know. And you were so confident and I don’t know… vibrant. Then we went outside and it was kinda cold and I had no clue what I was supposed to be looking at and I kept thinking to myself how I was so nervous all of a sudden. And _then_ , Jesus Stiles, your mouth. That was my first kiss. I was so serious in high school, and kind of a nerd so I never did anything.”

Stiles scooted down so his head was resting on Derek’s chest as he traced random spirals and shapes into his shirt. “But then I realized I was in so deep and I was terrified that maybe you would hate me for it, for not just taking off my mask and telling you I’d completely fallen for you. You went to take off my mask and I freaked out and ditched you and I’m really sorry about that. I don’t want to lie to you.”

Stiles glanced up at him, dragging a hand across his chest a pulling him into an awkward star-gazing hug. “I knew it was you.”

“You did?!”

“Well I thought it might be you. Your beard is pretty distinctive. And that Wolverine spandex did nothing to hide your assets if you know what I mean. That’s why I was so whiny in the library and pissed when you just packed up and left. I thought you just didn’t want anything to do with me and you had figured out it was me because of my voice or something.”

“It was your moles actually. Also, Sexy Batman?”

“My m- Hey, Sexy Batman was _brilliant_.”

Derek chuckled. “Yeah, it was.”

“So the safe in your room… Guns?”

“Guns. And a taser.” For a while, they just looked up at the stars beyond the ceiling of the planetarium. Marbled gray clouds started to drift in from the west, illuminated by the moon like smoke around a bar light.

“I forgive you.”

“I’m gonna mess up sometime you know.”

“I’m definitely not perfect. You’re gonna get pissed when I put the toilet paper on the wrong way.”

Derek shifted, staring down at Stiles, “Wait, I put it paper over.”

“Oh, me too. One catastrophe avoided already! See, we’re a good couple.”

“Yeah,” Derek breathed, shimmying down so he was facing Stiles, pulling him into a slow kiss, “We _are_ a good couple.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr as [Foolproofpoem.](http://foolproofpoem.tumblr.com)


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